


The Ghost, the Ice, and the Locker Room

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Shmoop, non sexual showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets hurt on a hunt. Sam and Castiel take him back to the bunker for some TLC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost, the Ice, and the Locker Room

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this story is part SPNkink_meme and part "Forgotten" by NorthernSparrow. If you've read that story you might recognize some familiar elements. If you haven't read that story, abandon this one immediately, cancel your Valentine's day plans, and go read it. You're welcome.

Sam clawed desperately at the frozen ground, trying to unearth the rest of the bones. Out on the lake, the ghost was letting out ear-piercing shrieks as it alternated between attacking Dean and Castiel. Dean swung at it with the pipe and missed, grunting as he was thrown further out onto the ice.

“Sam, hurry!” Castiel screamed as he lunged at the specter. He could hold it, but not for long. Clumps of icy mud shifted under Sam, revealing a skull. Perfect. He doused the dirty bones in lighter fluid, knocking the full container of salt over in his haste. Behind him, someone was taking a beating.

“ _Sam!”_

 _“Hold on!”_ he shouted back, striking a match and dropping it into the shallow grave. The ghost let out a scream as it began to burn. The flames were bright and beautiful, reflecting off the frozen lake and the fresh powdered snow. A shadow blocked Sam from seeing the ghost itself, and with a start, he realized it was holding his brother by the scruff of his jacket. Dean was scrabbling at his throat, trying to fight off the monster’s grip. Sam ran toward them, and in the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel doing the same.

And then the night was suddenly dark as the melting ice beneath the ghost gave way, and ghost, hunter, and flames were plunged into the black water.

“Dean!”

Chunks of ice bobbed in the water, edges already beginning to re-freeze where they made contact with the subzero air. Sam began stripping off his jacket, but Castiel didn’t bother, plunging into the inky water fully dressed.

Sam backed away from the edge when the ice beneath him groaned ominously. He’d give it a minute, and then go in after them.

Castiel didn’t need a minute. He hauled himself to the surface with a gasp, pulling Dean up with him. Sam’s fingers froze to Dean’s jacket in the time it took him to haul his brother onto the ice. Castiel pushed himself up out of the water, staring at Dean, utterly unphased by the ice crystals forming on his hair and skin. He looked to Sam.

“What do we do?” he asked, his vessel’s lips turning a shade of blue to match his eyes.

“We’ve gotta get him back to the bunker. Now.”

Sam pulled one of Dean’s arms over his shoulders, hauling the shorter man to his feet. Dean stood uneasily, relying on Sam to stay upright. Castiel ducked under his other arm, and between the two of them they half-dragged, half carried the freezing hunter back to the impala. Sam fished the keys out of Dean’s pocket, wincing as the wet metal froze to his skin. He tossed them to Castiel.

“You’re driving. Crank the heat up all the way.”

Cas nodded, ducking into the front seat and starting the engine.

“Baby?” Dean muttered, looking around.

“Yeah. C’mon Dean, in the back we go.”

Sam slid into the back, pulling his brother in after him. He winced at the smear of mud and lake water across the leather seats. Dean was gonna be pissed when he came to.

“Drive,” Sam ordered, leaning over to slam the car door shut. Castiel complied, hitting the gas a little harder than necessary and sending a rooster tail of gravel across the parking lot.

This was supposed to be a simple job. It was a textbook murder-victim-revenge, salt-and-burn ghost case. They wouldn’t even have bothered with it, except that it was twenty minutes from the bunker and Garth had begged them.

Hot air blasted from the vents as Sam shrugged out of his muddy jacket. He pulled at Dean’s clothes, awkwardly working the wet layers over his shoulders.

“Come on, buddy, hands up,” Sam muttered, pulling Dean’s sopping t-shirt over his head. Underneath, his bare skin was pale and cold. Sam’s hands were caked in dirt, and they left dark smears on his brother’s skin. Dean was mumbling something incoherent. Sam stripped off his own shirts, settling into the corner of the bench seat and pulling his brother into his lap. He hissed at the feel of Dean’s cold skin across his chest. He pulled his dirty jacket over them both, wrapping his arms around his brother’s chest and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“How is he?” Castiel asked, edging the speedometer just a hair past seventy.

“Still breathing, still talking…. kinda. He’s shivering, though, so that’s good.” Sam recognized the landscape flying past outside. They were only a few minutes from home.

Never in his life had Sam been so grateful for a garage. More than once the brothers had returned from a hunt, battered and bloody, only to limp across a motel parking lot in front of a dozen bystanders. Usually in the rain, because God hated them.

This time, Castiel was able to pull the impala into the heated garage. Dean looked even worse in the light. His skin was paper white, making the blood from his assorted scrapes and bruises stand out all the more. Cas helped Sam get his brother out of the backseat and the three of them made their way into the bunker proper.

“We’ve gotta get him warm,” Sam explained. “I think you’re not supposed to put people with hypothermia in a bath, but I think a shower should be okay.”

The Men of Letters bunker had a proper locker room to accommodate the members who had stayed there, and that’s where the three of them headed now.

“Wanna sleep,” Dean grumbled when they set him on a bench.

“We’re gonna warm you up, make sure you don’t die on us, and then you can go to bed,” Sam told him, working at the knots on the hunter’s boots. The laces were soaked, and it was making them difficult to untie. Castiel stepped into the shower room, cranking two of the handles over to full hot. Sam rolled his eyes.

“You're supposed to get undressed first. It's gonna take the water an hour to make it to your skin. Aren’t you freezing?”

“No,” Castiel replied simply, before shrugging out of his wet jacket. “Do you need help with him?”

“Yeah. He’s really out of it. Probably at least two of these are going to need stitches. Do you know where the med kit is?”

Castiel went to fetch it and Sam gave up on the wet laces, cutting through them with a penknife and resigning himself to a solid round of bitching later. Dean was still shivering, despite having Sam’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders. Sam pulled off his brother’s boots, knocking snow and ice crystals off the hems of his jeans.

“Can you hold him up?” he asked Cas when the angel returned. Castiel obliged, holding Dean under the arms while Sam worked his wet pants and underwear off. Dean had a nasty cut on his upper thigh, and the skin around it was far too white for Sam’s liking.

Steam was starting to roll out of the shower area, and Sam quickly shucked off his own muddy clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

“Up and at ‘em, Dean,” he muttered, hauling his brother to his feet and leading him under the heated stream of water. Dean pulled away from it at first, and Sam adjusted the temperature down until it was cool enough for them to stand under. Dean still wasn’t staying upright under his own power, and now that the water was washing away some of the mud and dried blood and ghost goo, Sam could see a gash on the blonde’s temple that he didn’t like the look of one bit.

“You too, Cas, I need you. Bring one of those benches.”

Castiel dutifully dragged one of the wooden benches under the stream of water, and when Dean was settled onto it, Sam sent the angel back out to dump his thrice-soaked clothing into the hamper. He turned his attention back to his brother. On the floor of the shower were an impressive number of bottles containing everything from degreaser to rubbing alcohol to baby shampoo. It was the latter that he picked up now, wanting to be as gentle as possible on Dean’s assorted wounds. Castiel re-appeared as Sam poured a generous dollop into his palm. Sam handed the angel the soap bar, and went to work.

Dean’s tawny hair had dried into matted spikes, and the suds of the shampoo turned dark as Sam scrubbed away the stains. Dean relaxed back into the touch.

Dark rivulets ran down Dean’s body to where Castiel was working with a soapy washcloth. The milky white of Dean’s skin turned pink where the water touched it. Gently, watching the bruises and lacerations, Cas cleaned the smears of mud off Dean’s chest and arms. When he was satisfied, he moved to the gash on Dean’s leg. Blood had run off it, dripping down his leg and drying. Now that the mud had washed away, it was bleeding lazily again, turning the water a dingy pink. Castiel worked the cloth over it, pausing when Dean winced at the touch. When he was satisfied that the cut was clean, he continued his way down Dean’s body, doing first one leg, then the other.

Sam finished working the last matted clumps out of Dean’s hair, and let the spray of water run clear before he started on his brother’s back. It was streaked with mud from where Sam’s coat had lain across it. Sam ran his hands across the skin, brushing the dirt away. Under his hands, Dean was still shivering.

“I’m going to go get some blankets,” Sam told the angel. “Can you watch him?”

Castiel nodded. Dean was sitting up under his own power now, which was good. The lake water and mud and blood had been washed clear, and Dean’s skin was turning a promising pink color. Castiel checked his fingers and toes for pale patches that would indicate frostbite.

“Dean, I know you’re tired, but this is important. I need you to tell me if you can feel this.”

“Mmkay.”

Castiel worked along the common danger points, pressing his fingers against Dean’s fingers, toes, ears, nose, and chin. Each time, Dean acknowledged the pressure. Sam returned with a stack of towels and a thick comforter. He shut off the water while Castiel rubbed Dean down with the towels, getting him as dry as possible. With one of them under each arm, they moved Dean back out into the main area, where it was dry. Castiel sat straddling the bench, Dean’s back against his chest. He wrapped them both in the comforter, pulling the hunter’s chilled body flush against his own.

While Castiel dried Dean’s hair, Sam unpacked the med kit, removing a sterile needle and suture thread. He closed the gash on Dean’s leg with practiced stitches, then covered it with a bandage to keep it clean and dry.

“Gettin’ better, Sammy,” Dean mumbled at him, and Sam rolled his eyes. He’d been stitching Dean up since he was eight years old, and the older boy never failed to give him shit about his technique. Sam’s eyes traveled up his brother’s body, taking in the myriad scars he’d accumulated, more often than not edged with the dots left by Sam’s careful needlework. After a perfunctory check, he didn’t see anything else that needed to be sewn shut. He put butterfly sutures over a couple of the deeper-looking cuts, covering them with more bandages.

“How you doing, Cas? You have anything that needs to be addressed?”

The angel shook his head.

Sam looked down over his own body. He was as scarred as his brother, his skin a roadmap of the battles they’d fought over the years. There were some fading bruises on his ribs from a witch who had thrown him through a wall several weeks previously, and his hands were scratched and abraded from digging through the icy ground, but there was nothing serious enough for immediate medical attention.

Dean was falling asleep, leaning back against Castiel, who wasn’t looking too solid himself. Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to stave off the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders like lead. When was the last time he’d slept? He couldn’t remember. Day before yesterday, at least.

“Alright. Come on Dean. Bedtime.”

Dean muttered something that might have been a curse, nestling back further against Castiel. Sam grabbed the comforter and pulled it off them, grinning at the twin hisses as the cold air hit their skin.

“Come on. Two hundred yards to the bedroom. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Dean blinked up at him with sleepy green eyes.

“Memory foam, Dean.”

That perked the older hunter up. He staggered to his feet with only a little help, and then snatched the comforter back from his younger brother. He wrapped it around himself and wobbled down the hall towards his room. Sam and Cas exchanged looks.

“One of us should probably stay with him,” Castiel said. “He might have a concussion, so we’ll need to wake him up several times during the night.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

Castiel shook his head.

“I’ll do it.”

Sam clapped the angel on the shoulder.

“You’re a trooper, Cas. You go make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep in the hallway. I’ll get the blankets from your room. I have a feeling you’re going to need all of them you can get.”

 

Castiel’s bed was, if anything, the exact opposite of Dean’s military corners. The angel didn’t see the need for rigidly defined head-to-feet orientations, and tended to sleep burrowed into the bedding like a nest, in whatever configuration felt most comfortable at the time. By the time Sam extricated the blankets from the tangled mess of bedding and returned to Dean’s room, the two of them were already sleeping, curled together under the blankets. Dean had stopped shivering, and the cut on his temple wasn’t looking nearly as bad as Sam had feared. He lay the blankets over the sleeping forms, tucking it in at the edges.

He was just about to leave when Dean caught his hand.

“Stay’th me.” Dean mumbled. Sam smiled.

“There’s no room, Dean. I’ll be in my room right down the hall.”

“Nnn. Dull’n.”

Sam stilled. The dullahan was a creature Dean had fought decades ago, a terrifying monster with a whip made of bone. It had been one of Dean’s first hunts, and afterward he’d been on edge for weeks. He had nightmares about the thing constantly, waking up in the night to clutch at his little brother. He’d been afraid the creature was coming for him, but more than that, he was afraid it was coming for his brother.

“Dean…”

“Please Sammy?”

“Fine,” Sam muttered, pulling back the blankets and sliding into the narrow bed beside his brother. “But when you wake up in the morning, remember that this was your idea.”

Dean responded by nuzzling into his little brother’s chest and promptly falling asleep. Sam wrapped an arm around him, being careful not to wake Cas. Dean’s skin was warm under his, his breath even against Sam’s skin. Team Free Will lived to fight another day.

In a few minutes, Sam was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So I did my best to make this as platonic as 3-way nudity can be. Husband reported back that the story gave him a "confused boner." I guess I'm bad at platonic? I'd love to hear your take on it. 
> 
> Another fic resulting from a prompt over at SPNkink_meme. Bless you folks for giving me things to write without having to come up with my own ideas. 
> 
> The original prompt can be found here:  
> http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/106950.html?thread=40355782#t40355782
> 
> Interestingly enough, I had to google the word "shmoop" to make sure that it was what I thought it was. Google suggested "shmoop in cold blood" which turned out to have a perfectly rational explanation. Still, I'd like to see a fic with that phrase as a tag. 
> 
> Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas, everybody.


End file.
